


Becoming the Dragon

by Abiwim



Category: Francis Dolarhyde - Fandom, Hannibal - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Graphic Sex, Graphic Violence, Mental Health Issues, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abiwim/pseuds/Abiwim
Summary: For @theimaginesyouneveraskedfor Roo’s Classic Literature Writing Challenge, with prompts –I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.Make me happy, and I shall be virtuous.Mary Wollestonecraft Shelley – Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus





	1. Becoming

He was becoming.

He gloried in his becoming.

It was growing, manifesting; not only on his body, but he could feel it filling his soul.

The Great Red Dragon had started as a seed, a kernel, a nugget. It had started deep down in the pit of his belly.  Nascent. Flickering to light. The flames of the Woman Clothed in the Sun warmed the Dragon’s soul. The flames licked at the Dragon’s toes, his talon’s dug in; dug into the man’s intestines, using them as a bird uses a telephone line. Gripping, readying for flight.

Every day he could hear the Dragon. His roar was powerful, if still just a breath on the wind. Every day he prepared his body; the Dragon needed him to be strong, powerful, invincible. His body needed to fulfill the Dragon.

Every day he filmed. Every day he gave the Dragon choices.

He prepared his supplies. Knife, gloves, gun, glass cutter, zip ties. He didn’t require more.

He drove his van to Philadelphia. 100 miles. A little over an hour to get there. It was 1:30 in the morning. He parked the van in a motel lot. It was easy to get to; through the woods, over the fence and he would be there.

His adrenaline always started to pump as he approached a house. This one was a nice house. Faux Tudor. The family were nice, as well. Tall, blond Mom. Strapping Dad. 3 beautiful children ages 6-12. The barbeque they had would have been a lot of fun.

If he were a different person.

He made quick work of the door; suburban negligence at its best.

The Dragon was roaring his lust, his need.

He made his way up the stairs. 2 bedrooms at the back; the girls in 1, the boy in the other. They will come later. 1st the Dad.

Into the master bedroom, past the bathroom, the walk-in closet. He stood, watching. Taking giant gulps of air, trying to calm his soaring nerves.

He could feel his erection, heightened, straining. It’s pressure driving him forward.

The knife went through the man’s neck like butter. He watched as the arc of blood splattered against the wall; his art. The wife woke at feeling another body on the bed, but he punched her soundly. He made his way to the bathroom and found a towel that would work as a gag. He only had to wait a few moments for her to regain consciousness.

The woman looked at him, her eyes darted around the room. A keening sound tore from her throat at the sight of her husband’s blood splashed across the walls. She shook her head. He could see the pleading in her eyes.

As she noticed his erection she started to panic. A muffled, “No, no, no,” could be heard.

He put his mouth to her ear, “That is not for you.”

He hauled her to her feet and tied her hands behind her back with the zip tie. He propelled her from the bedroom into the hall. As he led her to the bedrooms at the back of the house she fought and kicked out. Her eyes widened as he headed for the girls room. She knew they were all going to die, but was terrified of the idea of her girls being defiled beforehand.

He opened the door and took aim at the older girl. His pistol made a swoosh sound as the bullet escaped the silencer. The woman squealed. He looked at the woman and smiled, “She is free.”

The sound repeated, the woman sagged against him. He stepped back, dragging the woman with him.

The last door was opened. There was no one in the bed. He pushed the woman to the floor and made his way to the bed. Tucked in between the bed and the wall was a boy. He made himself as small as possible, pleading for his life with his eyes.

He reached for the boy, dragging him out of his hiding spot. He threw the boy to the floor and shot.

Tears flowed down the woman’s face as she twisted in agony.

He left the woman on the floor, seeking out the mirrors. He stopped in front of the bathroom mirror and looked at himself. The deep scar on his lip was pale, his mouth in a hard line. He put his index finger to his lip and slowly intoned, “She sells sea shells,” before crashing the butt of his pistol into the glass.  Shards flew from the force used.

He smashed the mirror in the girl’s room, the mirror at the top of the staircase and the mirror in the master bathroom. There was 1 last mirror to take care of, but that one was waiting for the Mom.

He went back to the boy’s room and dragged the woman back to her room. She struggled, kicking and screaming as he pulled her by the zip tie. He hauled her back onto the bed; she scrambled away from her husband’s congealing blood.

He turned to the intricate mirror over the dresser and cast the gun against the glass. This mirror was more fragile and splintered into smaller pieces. The glass dust settled over the top of the dresser.

He sorted through the pieces, putting aside the ones that suited his needs.

When his task was completed he turned to the woman and said, “ **I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.** Behold my becoming.” He reached out with the knife and slowly, methodically, deliberately sliced her neck from one end to the other. He watched as the blood drained from her and the light left her eye.

He made his way to the children’s rooms and brought them to the master bedroom. He propped the Dad and the boy along the wall. The Mom and girls, he laid out on the bed, their arms and legs sticking out from their bodies.

He placed his carefully selected glass shards on the eyes and mouths of each person. On the Mom and girls, he added a shard to the opening of their vaginas.

He stood and surveyed his great work. His art. He could feel the Dragon stirring.

He was becoming.


	2. The Dragon

A repetitive sound entered into Francis’ brain. Beep Beep Beep  He reached over and slammed his palm onto the alarm clock. A very efficient man, he threw back the covers and swung his legs from the bed in one swift movement.  Sitting on the side of the bed, he put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face.

His morning routine consisted of: shower, dress, porridge, coffee and out the door.

He liked his work, as a film technician he had an excuse to avoid most people. Alone in the darkroom, he could hide. He wasn’t called upon to lead meetings or supervise anyone; he could be free to interact or not, at his choosing. He didn’t mind the people he worked with, some of them were quite nice; he simply hadn’t learned how to talk to them, how to _be_ one of them.

Besides, he was well on his way to transcending. He had almost become.

The last family caused the Dragon to grow. He was almost one with him.

Today, he sat at his usual table. He was eating his usual lunch and reading a magazine. He looked up in surprise when the chair across from him was pulled out and a woman sat facing him.

“D’you mind if I sit here?” she asked.

Francis grunted and shrugged. Sneaking glances up from his magazine, he observed the woman. She was tall, her figure was full and lush, her hair was salt & pepper and flowed softly over her shoulder. She was very attractive. He could feel stirrings in his loins. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘No women.’

He had had relations with women. He never dated, but there were plenty of accommodating women to choose from on Carrison Blvd between Duvall and Mondawmin Avenues.

He glanced up again only to find the woman watching him. He felt his dick twitch. ‘Fuck!’

“That must be quite the article.”

“Uhhh, yeah. It’s an article about the Christian left in America.”

The woman stretched her arm across the table, “I’m Dianna MacPherson.”

Francis shook her hand, “Francis Dolarhyde.”

“Yeah, yeah; you process the infrared stuff. I hear you are pretty good.”

Francis blushed under the compliment. “Th-thank you,” he stumbled over the digraph, his hands clenching into fists under the table, ‘Dumb, you are dumb!’ he thought.

Dianna tilted her head, taking measure of the man across from her. “You know, it isn’t that bad.”

Francis’ eyebrows flew up, “What isn’t?”

“Your speech…the cleft. They both aren’t that bad.” She smiled at him. “My brother has a cleft palate, his speech is rougher than yours.”

Francis stared at the woman, shocked that she would speak so openly about his defect.

Dianne put her purse on the table and rifled through it. As she found what she was looking for she rose from her seat and came around to stand behind him. She leaned over his shoulder and wrote a 7 digit number across the page of his magazine. She put her other hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I’d very much like to fuck you.”

Francis’ face spasmed as an instant hard-on arose in his pants. As the woman straightened she ran a finger over the shell of his ear and along the back of his neck. He watched, his whole body tense, as she sashayed out of the cafeteria, turning to smile and wave after her.

***

Francis unfolded the sheet of paper again. For 2 days he had re-opened and re-read the torn-out page. For 2 days he had picked up the receiver of his phone and replaced it in its cradle. The Dragon was howling in his brain. Repeatedly he slammed his palms against his head, desperate to cease the desires coursing through him. He felt as though he was losing control. The Dragon was present and wanted to take the woman.

He sat on his couch and turned on the film projector. He tried to concentrate on his latest subjects but the wailing would not stop. The sex-crazed, power hungry yowling in his brain continued. Against his will his hand reached, once again, for the telephone. He begged his fingers to stop as they punched in the numbers; his mind fought against his voice as it said, “Dianne, its Francis.”

He bid his legs to stop moving as they made their way to his van. Throughout the drive he fought against the Dragon; he was afraid. He had no control over the beast.

The Dragon was suave and cool.

As Dianne opened the door, he said “Good evening. You look lovely tonight; sexy even.” No sibilant s, no stutter.

She leaned against the frame of the door and grinned, “Smooth talker. I told you it wasn’t that bad.” She stepped back and, starting down the hallway, ushered him into the house. “Would you like a drink?”

He answered by stepping close, putting his hands on her hips and kissing the crook of her neck. She giggled; not a girlish twitter but a deep, knowing sound from deep in her throat.  Her giggle changed to a moan as he ran his hands up and around, brushing across her breasts, to lay flat against her breast bone. He pulled her close to him and rolled his pelvis against her ass. “You are ready, aren’t you?” she said.

She removed his hands and turned, leading him backward into her house. They passed the living room and the kitchen, continuing down the hall of her bungalow to the bedroom.

Her hazel eyes found his blue and she was mesmerised. She had never seen eyes so blue; there was a fire within but it was cold and set her senses soaring. She could feel that he was dangerous, but she was thrilled; she wanted to experience all that this big man could give her.

She reached out to unbutton his shirt; she took her time, reveling in the hardness she was revealing. He reached up and pulled the garment from his shoulders, letting it fall in a puddle on the floor. She gasped at the glory of his chest all smooth planes, his nipples were already peaked so she flicked her thumb against 1, causing him to moan. She undid his belt and his zip. He kicked off his shoes and shucked the jeans and underwear.

Dianne laid a hand against his chest and luxuriated in the feel of him. Keeping a hand on him, she moved around him, halting at the image on his back. She stepped back to better see the tattoo which started at his shoulders and continued down across his ass, ending in a tail down his right leg.

“William Blake, The Red Dragon,” she whispered, as she traced the image across the muscles in his back, down to his waist, his buttocks; she continued to follow it down his leg. She made her way back up, this time using her mouth and her tongue.

Francis moaned as she continued on her journey. By the time she made her way back around to his front she was naked and he gasped at her curves. Her hair was cascading down her back, leaving her breasts exposed. He took the weight of one in the palm of his hand and looked at it. It was perfection. The rosy aureole was puckered, awaiting his mouth, his fingers. He squeezed lightly causing Dianne to close her eyes and breathe deep. When his mouth closed around her nipple she called out, “Yes, Francis, that’s it!”

They tumbled backward onto the bed. Francis covered Dianne’s body with his, kissing her neck, her ear, making his way down her body. His fingers sought out every part of her and made her body sing. He was in total control. His own body was hard and ready, but the need to feel all of her was driving him on.

He kissed and nipped and smelled her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Dianne was floating on a cloud of bliss; never before had a man spent so much time on her. Never before had she experienced a lover who was so giving, so gentle, caressing her as if she were a goddess.

His fingers moved to her womanhood. He parted her labia and dipped his head lower. His tongue slipped forward and swiped from her anus to her vagina and on to her clit. She writhed in pleasure, calling his name and gasping her disbelief. He circled her vagina with his index finger before slowly sliding it in; he grinned as her muscles contracted around it before slowly pulling it out only to go back with another. She arched against him and screamed out when his tongue plied her clitoris.

He increased the tempo of his fingers, at the same time he reached up and rubbed her nipple between his other forefinger and thumb. She was close, her muscles were contracting around his fingers. His tongue continued its barrage against her bundle of nerves. He could feel her fingers in his hair, the scratch of her nails driving him on.

Suddenly his fingers were coated with her, her juices came fast and hot as she shouted out her rapture. He moved his mouth to her opening and sucked her taste in. He lapped at her until there was no more.

She pulled him up to her mouth and kissed him. He allowed it. She rolled him over and reached into her bedside table for a condom. She smiled as she saw his girth. He was long and thick; precum was already seeping from his penis. She rolled the condom on him and, continued to hold him in her hand, positioned herself above him.

She wriggled her hips, slowly sinking onto him. With her hands on his shoulders she started building a tempo. He let her do the work for now and lay, watching her face. It was flushed, her eyes closed. A small smile played about her lips. He reached up and took each breast in his hands, kneading and pinching. Her smile grew as her rhythm increased.

He took control and rolled her onto her back. He placed a hand on the mattress, either side of her neck and plunged into her, deep. She rolled her hips up into him, matching him stroke for stroke. He whispered, “ **Make me happy, and I shall be virtuous**.”

Steadily, he pounded into her. Harder and harder.

Dianne’s eyes grew wider, her smile disappeared. She gasped, “Francis that is hurting.”

He put a hand over her mouth.

He could feel his testicles tightening.

He put one hand against her throat.

She started bucking under him; her eyes were full of panic.

His heart was pounding; he could feel his penis hardening farther.

He put his other hand against her throat. He squeezed.

Dianne was beating at his body with her fists; he could feel nothing but the release…almost there.

He continued to pound into her vagina, he no longer noticed that her contractions against his dick had stopped.

Her fists slowed, her lips turning blue.

His balls released their load and he pumped the condom full of his semen.

As she stilled beneath him the Dragon roared in ecstasy!

He had become.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
